Of Loves Lost
by StarKatt427
Summary: "There are two girls—two completely different girls who share only their deep love for him—that have managed to truly charm Peter's heart and still have hold of it today." The story of the two girls Peter Pan has loved and lost.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The world of Peter Pan does not belong to me, and the rights to this amazing creation go to J. M. Barrie.  
**

******A/N: From Narnia to Neverland! I've always loved this universe (books, movies), but it really surprised me just how quickly and suddenly I went into this. **

******First off, I am a Peter/Wendy fan; always have been. I think their relationship is sweet and fascinating and heartbreaking. But I became interested into another person after reading Jodi Lynn Anderson's book a few days ago that is named after the central character: Tiger Lily. The books' depiction of her and the relationship she has with Peter fascinated me, and I found myself wanting to write about it. I couldn't leave out Wendy though, and so you have this, the prologue to my short little story about the complicated relationship between the three.  
**

******I have taken inspiration and facts from the book, the 2003 movie, and from my own imagination. And I would also like to point out that if I continue to write in this universe, this story will most likely not have anything to do with my other works: This is just a single bit that came from somewhere deep in my mind and would not be tied in with my others.  
**

******You'll get the first look at the actual characters in the first chapter, so please don't leave after just this, even though it's very short. This is my first time working with Sir Barrie's beloved characters, so review and let me know what you think of all this madness!**

******StarKatt427**

* * *

All children grow up, except for one, and that is Peter Pan.

But, does he really stay a child forever? Does he begin to grow up without even realizing it?

The best way to answer this is to look into his very mind and heart.

Peter is wild, as untamable as any beast and sometimes as vicious. He knows no fear, but when the times arise when he does, in fact, feel the dreaded fright, it leaves him just as suddenly as it came. He is brave and impatient and proud and childish.

And though many would not guess by seeing the feral child in the skeleton leaves, he loves. This special sentiment is reserved for the women that fall into his chaotic life, the ones that he goes to when even his own darkness becomes too much. He has loved many, and in return has been loved by many, for his charm is enough to captivate the most stoic. He has forgotten most of them, and though they never truly recover from this loss, they do not blame him; it is his nature to be forgetful.

But there are two girls—two completely different girls who share only their deep love for him—that have managed to truly charm Peter's heart and still have hold of it today.


	2. Chapter the First

**Disclaimer: The world of Peter Pan does not belong to me, and the rights to this amazing creation go to J. M. Barrie.  
**

******A/N: ****On to chapter one! I'm posting this right after I uploaded the prologue because maybe more people will be interested this way, and once I see how this chapter does, then I'll upload the next and then finally the epilogue. **

**If you notice any grammatical mistakes, please feel free to let me know so I can fix them, and drop in a comment if you like the relationship portrayed in Chapter the First ;)**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

Peter had known Tiger Lily's name for ages before he actually met her; she was daughter of the chief, after all, and Peter kept an ear on most of the natives' activities to know what they were up to. When he'd first heard her name mentioned, he had paid it little mind, and yet an image slowly began to form in his head of a girl with the strong features the Indians possessed, a princess skilled in weaving and delicate in every way, the very image of a lady.

But his view on her changed dramatically the afternoon they met face to face.

* * *

Peter was silently tracking through the woods after a pirate who had come too close to his and the Lost Boy's home for comfort, confident in his surroundings and without much of a care in the world. But then he sensed a presence; not because of the rustling of bushes or the sound of footsteps, but because of the sheer amount of quietness he heard several yards ahead, like there was something—or someone—being deliberately silent. Almost as soon as he became aware of the presence, he felt a tightening in the air, as if they, in turn, had realized he was there. Silently drawing his dagger, Peter took slow, deliberate steps forward, prepared to slash his blade across a pirate's throat if required, when a figure flew out from behind a tree and met him dead—on, weapon raised in hand to meet his.

Only, it wasn't a pirate. Peter froze, not just from the fact that he knew it would be unwise to attack an Indian since he didn't want the entire village after his head, but also because, in all his time spying on the natives, he had never seen this one up close before. She was tall for a girl but shorter than him, with a strong brow and proud features, black eyes cold as she stared him down and hatchet held firmly in her hand, patterns in paint decorating her cheeks and hair long and black and braided messily down her back.

He was amazed. Any other time he would have met an Indian maiden in the forest, alone and without anyone to protect them, he would have seen fear, maybe even terror, in their features. Now, however, he saw something else entirely, and was amazed by it: This girl met his gaze without fear, ready to kill him if need be.

Peter lowered his knife, but only slightly, cocking his head to the side as a befuddled smile lifted his features. And then he took his eyes off of her, something he never did when facing an opponent, to slide his knife back into its sheath, giving her the ideal chance to attack.

Whether she knew he was testing her or not, Peter didn't know, but she did not attack. When he looked back at her, he saw the hatchet was still held in her hand, but no longer as high, and the hostility in her black eyes had diminished, now overcome by curiosity and wariness. He was still smiling, unable to stop for some reason, and then he took a small step back, and another, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"I'm Peter. Pan, that is."

She blinked. "I know of you."

"Of course you do."

"You are haughty."

"Maybe. But so are you."

The girl inhaled sharply then, eyes widening, but she did not appear angry. "You're probably right."

Peter leisurely leaned back against a tree, enjoying their conversation. "Why are you alone?"

"Why should I tell you?" she asked, guarded.

He shrugged. "I'm just curious. Most girls wouldn't walk through a dangerous forest by themselves."

The girl lowered her weapon then, holding it at her side and watching him intently, like she was trying to figure him out. "I'm not like most girls."

Once again, that crooked, surprised smile flitted about his features without his consent, and he leaned back up you stare straight at her. "I told you my name. It's only right that you tell me yours."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't what she said.

"Tiger Lily. I am Tiger Lily."

He stared at her for a few moments, secretly surprised enough that he couldn't find the right words. Here was the native princess, completely at odds with the image he had conjured. But, somehow, this real one seemed better, much more interesting, and he grinned at her, eyes twinkling.

"No one has ever seen you," Tiger Lily said, bringing him back from his thoughts. "No one in the village, I mean. They say you're a devil."

"They'd probably be right," he said, laughing lightly, "but not in the sense they believe. I'm not a monster. I'm a boy."

At that, something about her gaze softened, and though she didn't smile, Peter had sensed that she wanted to. "Yes. You are a boy."

"A very clever one. Are you clever?"

Tiger Lily's pride flared. "Of course."

He grinned. "Good. Because you'll have to be to find us."

"What?"

Peter took a single step toward her, and he saw her lift her hatchet ever so slightly, so he stopped. "You know about us, the Lost Boys. You're skilled in tracking, right?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"Then track us. If you can find us, I'll admit that you're clever, and then you can visit all you like, as long as you don't tell anyone." He turned his back to her then and began to walk off.

"And who says I want to find you again?"

Stopping, Peter glanced at her over his shoulder, smiling slyly. "You won't be able to resist."

* * *

Tiger Lily did find Peter and the Lost Boys, though it was nearly a week later, and by this time, Peter had nearly forgotten the wild girl with the painted face he'd met in the woods. But she showed up one afternoon as he and the boys were sitting around outside, sharpening spearheads. The six skinny children who made up the Lost Boys jumped up when she made her presence known, the sharpened rocks gripped in their hands in defense, but they immediately relaxed when Peter lifted himself from the ground and, surprisingly, ran to her, excited and more happy than he had been in a while.

"I knew you'd come! Though you took your time about it."

His childish glee surprised Tiger Lily, and she gave a very slight smile. "I had duties to attend to ahead of playing games with you."

Once the boys were introduced to her, Peter then declared they show her the burrow, the complex labyrinth of tunnels they had built below ground to hide from the pirates, then the neighboring lagoon and all of the other sights, to which Tiger Lily watched with apt attention, listening to their descriptions in silence though clearly not ignoring them. Peter made sure she stayed by his side, always eager to show off something else, and when they came to his room and she discovered the reed wind chime he had made hanging just beside his head, she fingered it gently and smiled, making Peter's heart flip flop on itself.

After this, she told them she had to return to her village, to which all of them begrudgingly let her, but when she promised to try and return as soon as she was able, it was Peter who grinned the brightest and who crowed the loudest.

* * *

After her first day with the boys, Peter noticed something about her change. Tiger Lily, he learned, was secretly wild. As the chief's daughter, she had to act accordingly when in the village, but he could see the ferocity in her face, in her words, her actions. On her second visit, the boys proposed a game of tag through the forest and mud bogs, but reconsidered when they thought of Tiger Lily, reasoning that girls didn't like to get dirty. Peter, however, knew otherwise when he saw a spark of fire flash into her dark eyes, a smile starting to stretch her features, and the strength and courage he'd seen in her the first time resurfaced accompanied by a wildness comparable only to his own.

And so, once she had explained that she would very much like to play, the game began, the boys and Tiger Lily chasing each other tirelessly. She was like any of them, the boys that squawked and hooped and hollered as they ran through deep undergrowth, and since she was as fast as all of them expect for Peter and a little faster than a few, she won as many games as she lost.

That is, until Peter, smirking deviously as he watched her running past trees without making so much as a rustle, quickly zipped toward her, grabbed her from behind and spun her around, laughing at her shock at having been caught.

"Tag!"

He'd laughed, giggling with childlike glee, but it slowly began to vanish as he stared into her face. She was looking at him with those coal black eyes, lashes long and hair falling out from its braid, stuck to her face with sticky sweat, inhaling for breath and chest pounding against his. And suddenly, he was holding her too close and not close enough, and he wanted to let go but didn't, but he wasn't sure why he was feeling two things at once, and so he simply held her to him, looking at her directly.

After a moment, a slow smile came to her face, her eyes dancing. "I'm it."

* * *

Her visits soon turned more frequent and lasted longer, sometimes consisting of nothing but playing games and exploring, while some times, Peter would take her off to a secret place he had found long before.

It was on one of these days that Peter made the realization that changed everything.

They had traveled into a deeper, older part of the jungle, Peter absently reaching for her hand from time to time and swinging it in his, and Tiger Lily allowed it, though she seemed just slightly uncomfortable, more shy than usual. The sky above was rumbling with thunder, and Peter, undeterred by the coming rain, led on, and she followed, too proud to admit wanting to return before the rain hit. While walking among the ferns and exotic plants, a wild boar had appeared before them, foaming and eyes full of madness and rage. Both Peter and Tiger Lily drew their weapons before the boar even registered their presence, but once it had, it let forth a sickening squeal and ran at them. While Tiger Lily went right, Peter went left, dagger poised to stab the beast through its heart once it charged after him, but the only problem was that it ran after Tiger Lily instead.

For the first time in his life, Peter felt terror for someone. The maddened boar could gore her to death if she didn't get away, or it could infect her with its disease, and Peter felt rage swell up in him at the animal for ever going near her. He ran swiftly, trying to catch it before it caught her, not even aware that the heavens had torn apart and rain was now falling in torrents. He could just see her black hair flying behind her, slapping against her back.

And then, something amazing, if a little frightening, had happened. Tiger Lily suddenly turned, stopped dead in her tracks, and met the boar head on. Peter hadn't even seen her draw her hatchet, not until the moment that she had it slicing into the pig's skull, blood spattering her face and clothes as she slammed the weapon into its brain once more, twice, then she pulled back and, quick as lightening, slid the jagged blade across its jugular vein.

The pig fell then, twitching as its life ebbed away and its blood flowed into the ground, the same blood that stained Tiger Lily with it vivid redness.

And Peter watched, too awed and a little afraid to move forward, though he couldn't say why.

Tiger Lily, panting and gasping, abruptly threw her head back, her arms out at her sides, and let forth a victory cry, a howl that was all soul and fire and everything wild and proud. And when she let the cry trail off, sucking in breath, she turned her fire filled eyes to his and grinned widely, the widest he had ever seen, enough so that her could see her perfect white teeth flashing at him through the downpour. Her smile was alive and free, something beautiful and frightening about her wildness, a wildness Peter understood and that filled his heart with strange warmth.

That was the day, the moment, that Peter Pan fell in love with Tiger Lily without knowing it.

* * *

Once they had returned from the encounter and she had cleaned every bit of blood from her face, Peter had her wrapped in a warm blanket to replace the infected clothes they were to burn once the rain stopped. He sat beside her, looking out at the rain from a small cave connected to the home beneath the ground, though he kept sneaking glances at her. After a while, when he turned to peek at her, he met her gaze, and they both quickly looked away.

Hesitantly, Tiger Lily, who was not very adept at displaying emotions, reached across the gap and placed her hand on Peter's. "You hate me now."

He turned to her, shocked. "No. Never."

"Then you fear me."

He considered this. "Maybe. A little. I've…never seen anyone like that before in battle. You're like me. You're brave. And good looking."

Tiger Lily, amused now, raised an eyebrow. "You believe you are handsome?"

"I know I am," Peter answered, nodding. "Only you're not handsome. You're pretty. Really, really pretty." He stopped then, surprised by something he had thought of. "You're beautiful."

And without any other warning, he leaned in a placed a chaste kiss to her mouth.

He pulled back just a quickly, eyeing her curiously, gently. She stared back at him, clearly surprised but not unhappy.

"Was that okay?"

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, it was okay."

Peter licked his lips. "Can I do it again?"

Tiger Lily smiled. "Yes."

Peter leaned back in and so did she, and then they were kissing, his hand traveling up to the black silk of her hair, trailing fingers down her neck as hers lifted to hold his face.

After this, when they were once again staring at each other and smiling softly, Peter laid his head down in her lap, pushing aside the blanket so that his face was touching her warm stomach. He inhaled deeply. "You'll stay with me. I know you will."

Above him, Tiger Lily grinned. "And who says I want to?"

Peter pulled in closer, kissing her stomach and making her breath stop. "You won't be able to resist."

* * *

It took Peter a while to realize that he was actually in love with Tiger Lily; he was too innocent, too forgetful, to comprehend it for some time, though he knew she meant a great deal to him and that he would be very unhappy if something happened to her. During the next several weeks, they began to spend more time alone together, though they never ignored the boys for long, and these quiet times when it was just the two of them were some of Peter's favorite memories of her. They would talk about unimportant things, like the way insects acted or the color of the sky of why the Indians were darker skinned while Peter and the Lost Boys were naturally fairer, their skin tanned to a light brown from years under the Neverland sun. But then they would ask other questions, uncomfortable questions. Peter once asked her about babies and where they came from, and if she would ever have a baby, which brought about the subject of mothers and had Peter fit to be tied with. Tiger Lily didn't understand his dislike of mothers, and so she argued back, which resulted in her walking off without so much as a backward glance and Peter ignoring her as she did so. But as the minutes passed, the loneliness only he truly felt from her absence won out, and he went to search for her, though he didn't have far to go: Tiger Lily had been waiting for him, though she was quiet and a bit surly when he found her sitting atop a large tree root. Before she could say anything, though, Peter threw himself at her, wrapping her tightly in his arms and curling against her, an act which still managed to surprise her; she sometimes forgot Peter's tendency to be emotional.

"You won't leave, remember? You can't. I forbid it."

"You cannot forbid me from doing anything."

He looked up at her then, on his knees in the dirt, and then he was kissing her fiercely, clinging to her and her to him, like they held the air the other needed to survive.

Peter buried his face against her throat, inhaling her forest, smoky scent. "You're mine. And I'm yours. And I love you. So don't leave again, not like that."

Tiger Lily knew he was broken; she could see it in certain expressions or when he tossed and turned during his vicious nightmares. But she wasn't that good of a comforter, and so all she could do was kiss the top of his head and hold him. "I won't. Because I love you."

* * *

The next few months were happy times for both of them. Tiger Lily still managed to sneak away to spend long hours with them, and Peter soon began to show curiosity toward her village, even bringing up the notion that he should meet with her father.

She was surprised. "Why? Everyone believes you are winged devil."

"Not winged, or a devil. I can fly, though."

Tiger Lily frowned. "That's not the point. I'm not sure how they would react to you."

"I'm sure they'd like me, maybe even love me, though not like you do. I can be very charming," he said, lifting his eyebrows and batting his eyelashes.

"Peter, try to understand—"

He cut her off by pushing himself off the ground where he sat and leaping up at her so that they were nose to nose, his eyes serious. "You're mine, and I'm yours, and so our families should look out for each other. If your father will agree to it and consent to do likewise, I'll offer my service and the boys' if your village is ever in need." He smiled suddenly, kissing her nose. "So, say yes."

Tiger Lily was no pushover; she held her own, and was a force to be reckoned with when angered. But when it came to Peter, it was almost impossible for her to say no. "I'll talk with him."

* * *

Soon, a treaty between Pan and the Lost Boys and the Indians had been made. The chief and Peter got along surprisingly well, though it annoyed Peter when he had berated Tiger Lily for keeping him a secret for so long. No longer having to sneak away now that the village knew about him, Tiger Lily slowly began to allow Peter to come visit her in the village more and more, and once they had lost their distrust of him and began to become fascinated with him, they also soon began to realize that he and Tiger Lily were nearly one in the same and that, though it was apparent that they loved each other intensely, there was also something oddly delicate about their bond.

* * *

This fact became apparent to Peter a few months later, when he finally realized something: Tiger Lily never let him take care of her. Most girls would have wanted to be pampered, but not she, and it made him strangely nervous around her at times, as did the fact that she was nearly able to beat him in races. She was so similar to a boy—to himself, really—that it felt strange when she came back from hunting, her hair a mess and blood on her face, the image almost scary.

Still, that wasn't enough to stop him from going to her, from seeking her out and calling her name, and he still liked the feeling of her body against his at night, of his fingers in her long hair, of his lips against hers. His fears had not won out.

Yet.

* * *

Tiger Lily noticed the change in Peter. Whenever a run was proposed, Peter argued against it vehemently, and since his vote was the one that truly counted, they played less and less when she came to visit. He tried to make her do more feminine things, once asking her to mend some clothing of his, to which she simply stared at him, confused and surprised he asked, as he knew her sewing was atrocious. After she reminded him of this, he growled angrily and stalked out of the room, leaving Tiger Lily behind in quiet hurt.

He came to find her on the cliffs later that afternoon, his shoulder slumped and face dejected. "I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"It's just…do you have to be so strong?" he asked finally.

Tiger Lily looked at him in confusion. "What's wrong with me being strong?"

Peter pulled in his knees and buried his face in his arms. "It's like you don't even need me."

This surprised her, but it hurt her too and made her sad, and she hesitantly stroked a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "You know I want you."

"That's not the same as needing." He looked up at her, eyes wide and afraid.

She sighed, letting her hand drop and looking at the sunset. "I have always been strong. I'm not like the other girls in the village, or like the ones you've mentioned meeting before."

Peter lifted his head, eyes pleading for something he didn't understand and heart clenching. "Why can't you be?"

Tiger Lily looked back at him sadly, her own heart trembling. "If you truly love me, how can you expect me to change who I am?"

At that, Peter fell into her, trying to swallow the frustrated, wounded tears that threatened to break loose and flood down his cheeks as he let her hold him, be his support, and prove the fact he had been denying for a while now: Tiger Lily was too strong to truly need him in the way that he, as Peter Pan, had to be needed.

* * *

It ended not long after that; another season passed, and they spent time together less often, until it became where Tiger Lily soon stopped coming to visit Peter and the boys as often, able to sense the distress growing in Peter and unable to find the words to comfort him. But maybe she wasn't able to anyway, because she had always considered herself strong, and though she did love him, she was too proud to admit she needed him.

For several long cycles, they remained like this, she in her village, becoming the princess she was required to be, and he living among the forest and beasts, once again feeling the wild abandon of life with just the boys, but yet carved out by a yawning emptiness that made his nightmares much worse.

It was Peter, who after months of missing her, longing after her, and wishing he didn't, who made the first move and finally went after her, though he had no idea what he would say.

* * *

He felt brave up until the moment he actually saw her.

The times in which Peter Pan felt fear were few, and when he did feel this unwanted emotion, he simply said to himself, "I'm not afraid," and convinced himself that he wasn't. He walked confidently into the village, passing the staring eyes and ignoring the murmurs, until he reached the teepee he knew Tiger Lily lived in. But before he even had a chance to lift the flap aside and enter, she was there, standing out of reach as she returned from the river, a basket of freshly caught fish carried in her arms. He looked up at her, watched her expression change from surprise to, a rare emotion she displayed, delight, and then to dread, her face slipping into something stoic.

And he was scared. As he looked into her familiar, solid face, he saw it there, the undeniable fact that something had finally changed her, changed them, and he wanted to scream, to yell, to cry. But he just smiled, though it was pain filled.

"Hi there."

She nodded. "Hello."

Awkwardly, Peter rubbed at the back of his head, then motioned over his shoulder to where he knew a small, isolated creek to run. "Can we talk?"

He watched as something flooded her face, something like relief and also utter sorrow as she nodded once more, sitting her basket down inside her teepee and following him out of the village in silence.

Not once did they touch, though they walked side by side. Peter felt the urge to take her hand, but imaging it also terrified him; it felt like such a long time since he had actually done it.

Once they reached the gurgling creek, Tiger Lily stopped and looked at him, waiting, and he returned his stare, emotions crawling up his throat. "You didn't come back," he said softly, hating how weak he sounded.

Her hands were at her sides and balled into fists, but he swore he saw them shake, and he could hear the slightest quaver in her voice. "You did not try to make me stay."

"But I'm here now," he said, stepping toward her and taking her by the arms, squeezing gently. She didn't pull away, didn't seem to want to, but a ripple of pain cracked through her mask. "I came for you. To say I was sorry." Peter suddenly lurched forward, resting his head against her chest and closing his eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I want you, but I don't, and then I do more and more, and it feels like I'm tearing in two. Can you explain it to me?"

He felt her arms lift, then stop, and then a hand was touching his hair, a slim, muscular arm wrapping around him. "You only love part of me," she explained as gently as she could. "It's that part that you cling to, but the part you fear is beginning to win."

Peter jerked upward, nose nearly colliding with her chin. "That's not true! I don't fear you. I don't fear anything!"

Sadly, Tiger Lily released him, but he didn't pull back too far. "You wish for someone who will love you and praise you, who will need you to protect her, who will not be as strong as you. And I'm not her." Though her eyes were dry, her mouth twitched like she wanted to cry. "I am not enough for you."

"But you are!" he argued, holding her once again, pulling her into his arms, and she let him, though she didn't hold him back. "I'm yours, and you're mine."

In his arms, she went utterly still.

Dread gripped his stomach, and he felt his voice rise in fright. "You're mine, right? You are still mine, aren't you, Tiger Lily?"

When she pulled away, he let her, unable to make himself do otherwise. Tiger Lily met his gaze evenly. "I am to be married."

"No. You're not."

"The date is set. After the next full moon, I will be wed."

Beneath him, the world tipped, and Peter felt his breathing stop, then resume in a rush. "But I came for you," he said softly, more of a plea.

Tiger Lily, unable to see him in such pain and knowing she was the cause of it, looked down. "You came too late."

Grief filled Peter, then anger, and then pure rage, and then he had her pinned against the smooth wall of rocks, his mouth to her and hands trapping her wrists above her head as he kissed her. And she didn't fight back, instead allowing herself to indulge this one last time. Realizing she wasn't trying to escape, Peter released her hands, and she wrapped them around his neck and pulled him closer, and kissed him harder, and he was afraid to stop.

But some part of him, the tiny part that was, in fact, beginning to grow up, knew it had to end. Because she had been right: Peter needed to be needed, and Tiger Lily didn't truly need him.

When he broke it off, he pulled her into tight hug, his face against her shoulder. Tiger Lily held him back just as tightly, as if afraid to let go, and he kissed her neck. But then he let go, and she did at the same time, and then they looked at each other, suddenly old and heartbroken. Because Tiger Lily wanted Peter, loved him more than she loved anything except for maybe herself. And Peter loved her, except that he wasn't brave enough to face her strength.

"Goodbye," he said, beginning to back away into the brush, and then he turned and ran, unable to conjure a light enough thought to send him into the air.

He did not miss the soft reply of, "Goodbye. Peter."

* * *

Peter went to her wedding. All of the Lost Boys did, but while they went in among the villagers, Peter could not.

She married a tall, handsome brave, a young man who smiled often and who, Peter realized, made Tiger Lily both sad and happy. She was beautiful in her dress, her long hair done up elegantly and decorated with raven feathers, her strong features oddly soft as she looked up at the man she was to marry. And Peter saw it, that she cared for him, but did not quite love him yet; not in the way she had loved him.

And once they were wedded, Peter, his stomach churning with hurt and grief and anger, nearly drew his knife and gutted her new husband then and there. But then, as if sensing him, she looked into the brush and met his gaze, and her eyes filled with sadness and the love she still felt for him and always would.

It was enough to make Peter lose his evil intent, but it put more painful, lonesome thoughts in his head, and he ran away, leaving her and the boys and everything behind.

Once he got back to the burrow, his rolling stomach had him collapsed on the ground and vomiting, his hands clawing at his pulsing, breaking heart as tears gushed down his cheeks and he sobbed himself to sleep.

Because Tiger Lily was no longer, and never would be, his.


	3. Chapter the Second

**Disclaimer: The world of Peter Pan does not belong to me, and the rights to this amazing creation go to J. M. Barrie.  
**

******A/N:**** For anyone who is more of a Peter/Tiger Lily fan...sorry, this got a little out of hand. The Peter/Wendy fangirl got the better of me, and so this chapter is a little longer. I just love em so much!**

**Once again, feel free to leave a little comment below to let me know if you appreciated this chapter, or even if you thought I didn't do their relationship justice. And any pointing out of spelling errors is highly appreciated.  
**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

There were times when Peter's restless nature grew too great for him to contain, when the wonders and dangers of his Neverland grew dull, and he would travel off into different worlds, worlds of large buildings that breathed smoke, where there was little wildlife and almost everything was metal. One world, in particular, called England, fascinated him just as it worried him, and he couldn't get enough of it.

He would fly around on those cold, foggy, smoke filled nights over the rooftops of tall houses and into trees, looking in on the few people who were engaging enough to keep his interest. These were the days when Tinker Bell was his companion, and he cherished her presence, a warm glow of glitter that floated around him and chimed in his ear and pulled at his hair playfully.

It was on one of these cold, London nights that Peter floated up to the Darling house and first saw her.

* * *

Initially, it was nothing more than a passing glance, as he didn't see anything especially captivating. But then he heard a soft, very animated voice float out through the window that was open, even on a cold night like this. Coming back, he peeked into the room.

Two boys sat on a bed, both staring up at figure with its back to Peter, a cloak thrown over their the person's and shoulders. He heard the voice speak again, and recognized it to be female, but it sounded far different than the girls he had met. She built up a sense of urgency in as she spoke of the deeds of a dastardly villain, and at the most critical moment, she lunged toward the wide eyed boys and threw back the cape.

Peter had listened to the story of the villain, in this story an evil queen, as she tried to kill a beautiful princess named Snow White, but he drew away from this when the boys cheered for the girl and clapped, and then he was watching as she gave a light curtsy. Laughing, she turned, just enough for Peter to really see her.

And something filled him, a fascination he hadn't experienced in many years, since another girl long ago.

Her hair was loose and flying as she moved around the room, smiling widely as she drew two wooden swords from a container and tossed one to the older boy, and Peter watched them begin to spar. As she moved, the fairness of her skin and the whiteness of her nightgown, the flowing of her light brown hair, made her seem as graceful as any fairy dancer. She was laughing the whole while, her eyes sparkling, eyes Peter had never seen any like before; they were large and clear and blue, the purest aqua.

Peter felt Tinker Bell tugging at his earlobe, but he ignored her, too entranced by the girl with the stories, who sought adventure, and who made him return for many nights afterward.

* * *

One night, he came too late to hear her stories. The window was closed, and through the glass, he could see three sleeping children in their beds. But just because he would not hear her stories didn't mean he would leave, and so he quietly lifted the window and flew into the room, Tinker Bell flitting nervously around his hair.

Ignoring the boys, he glided over to her bed, floating over her sleeping form. She looked younger now, her face smooth and serene as she slept, long lashes brushing her cheeks, and Peter suddenly felt the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. Hesitantly, he stretched out his hand and, at the last minute, let his fingers ghost over her full lips, inhaling at the action as heat blossomed in his chest. He pulled back, lost in wonder, and watched her.

And then her eyes opened, and she watched him back for one long second, still too caught in the depths of sleep to comprehend what she was seeing.

But then her eyes widened, she gasped softly, and Peter flew back instinctively, slamming into the wall and staring down at her.

Their first meeting.

She watched him with large blue eyes, lips parted, her face open and surprise written clear across it. And he couldn't help but look at her, was unable to make himself leave the room and this captivating, beautiful girl behind for his own world.

But then, a large beast he knew to be called dog charged out from its dwelling, seeing him as a threat to her charges, and he quickly flew out of the room and through the window just ahead of Tink, not looking back to get a last glimpse at the girl but wanting to.

Something jerked Peter to a halt, and he felt himself being pulled back against his will, a half startled shout exiting his mouth as he turned as saw he was hurtling toward the window, something yanking him back by his shadow. He managed to stop himself from crashing through the window and into the room, grabbing the frame and causing the window to slam shut, and at the action, he felt his shadow rip from him, caught in the mouth of the large dog.

For just a moment, he stayed, too stunned at what had happened to truly understand that he had lost his shadow, but it was mainly because of the fact that the little girl was looking up at him from where she had tumbled out of bed onto the floor.

As he flew away, pretending to listen to Tinker Bell's angry chiming as she berated him and cursed the beast who had stolen his shadow, all he could do was think about the night he would come back to get it.

The night he would see her again.

* * *

It wasn't long before the night arrived when he risked going back to her home in London, spending several minutes chasing down his unruly shadow and trying everything he could think of to reconnect it with himself. Finally, in a fit of childish desolation (for he was a child), he pulled in his knees and quietly cried.

"Boy, why are you crying?"

Throwing his head up and immediately lifting off into the air, Peter met a pair of startling blue eyes and a dazzling, curious smile. Regaining his composure, his feet returned to the ground and he bowed regally.

He watched her as she grinned widely, laughing a little as she threw the bedcovers back and stood, giving him a curtsey that was not exactly correct, but one Peter found wonderful.

"What is your name?" she asked excitedly.

"What is _your _name?" Peter countered, just the slightest bit hesitant; more than anything, he felt the beginnings of a delight he hadn't in years swell through him.

"Wendy Moira Angela Darling."

"Peter Pan."

They spent the never several long minutes talking, Peter telling her about his Neverland while she listened in rapture, all of her attention of him and the picture he painted for her, and he felt proud of himself, and pleased to have someone look at him like that, so adoringly. She admired him. For Peter, this made his conceit flame, but it also made something else spark in him, a delight and warmth he hadn't felt the last time. And soon, he had her convinced that growing up was overrated, that adults stole everything good away and made it boring, and that she should come back with him. Peter watched her incision, strangely nervous and afraid that she would say no and that he wouldn't have her telling him stories and being with him, but then she'd asked if he would bring her brothers, and though he had no interest in them, he agreed, only because it made her face brighten.

Tinker Bell, having gotten lost during the mad chase for the shadow, wasn't thrilled about the idea of him bringing along a girl; in fact, Peter knew she hated it, but he really didn't care what she thought. He hadn't felt like this in many moons, and though the feeling scared him just a little, past memories still painful, he couldn't stop the grin that came up when he saw Wendy smile as she stood in the window, smile right at him, and told him without words that she was ready to go with him to his world.

* * *

At odds with her appearance, Wendy quickly adapted to Neverland. After being shot down by the Lost Boys by accident due to the jealous Tinker Bell, she was brought to the home beneath the ground and, having been asked by the boys, took on the role of mother with pride, standing by Peter, as he was father. For the most part, she would simply watch after them and her brothers as they played in the forest, staying behind to keep house when they went away on hunting trips, and sometimes, Peter remained with her, though he wasn't inclined to help and chose to observe her as she sewed holes in tattering clothes and boiled the vegetables and root she liked to dig up. She loved to listen to their stories, but Peter realized she was especially fond of his own, and she smiled differently at him, almost in the way he imagined a real mother would look at their children's father. And when it was just before bedtime, all of the boy would gather around the chair where she sat and listened, enthralled, as she whisked them away into fairy tales and adventures, where good always triumphed over evil, and she sometimes even created stories about them; how Peter would bravely lead them in an attack on the pirates, how they would discover new and more amazing sights in Neverland. And none was more attentive at these times than Peter, who always sat with the boys on the floor but made sure he was the closest to her so that he could watch her every expression as she told her stories.

But just because she chose to remain at the burrow more often did not make her weak, and Peter soon found this out when she asked him to teach her swordplay.

He cocked his head to the side, surprised, and grinned. "Why would you want to learn a thing like that? You're a lady, you shouldn't have to worry with weapons." His emotions suddenly altered, making him feel oddly nervous, and he asked, "You don't believe I can keep you safe?"

"No!" she assured, and just as quickly, he was smiling in relief. "No, it's not that at all. I just…when I see you and the boys and John and Michael, all of you risking yourselves when you go off into the forests, I become…afraid." She held the front of her nightgown tightly with both hands. "I want to be of help, to protect you, if you ever need me."

Her words struck Peter strangely: Part of him felt annoyance because he did not need protecting, but the greatest part was flattered, happy, and suddenly burning with sweet heat at the knowledge that she cared so much about him, and he had to fight down the butterflies that flew around in his belly. "I don't need protecting."

She looked away, embarrassed.

"But I do need you."

Peter smiled softly when she turned back to him, her cheeks pink and mouth lifting into the tiniest of smiles. "I need you, Wendy. So, if you promise me that you'll never get injured, or leave my side if you're ever forced into a battle, I will teach you."

He quickly retrieved two blades, keeping one for himself and handing the other to Wendy, smirking slightly.

And beneath the shade of the large Neverland trees, Wendy took the sword, her hand soft and warm against his and making his heart light, and smiled.

* * *

Though it took many days of practice, Peter had Wendy quite capable with a sword. He enjoyed these times more than any others, watching her laugh as they played around and seeing her grow somber when he instructed her to strike like she really intended to do him harm, the way she truly seemed afraid she would hurt him; she cared enough about him for that, and once, when she was still too scared that she might accidentally hit him with her blade, he caught hold of her uncertainty and knocked the sword from her hand, then, without much thought about what he was doing, grabbed her around the waist with his free arm and pulled her close, so close that he could see every fleck in her ocean eyes.

Against him, she stiffened nervously, though unafraid, and didn't pull back, watching him strangely, fascination and surprise blended together.

And Peter felt a strange stirring in his stomach, rising into his chest and squeezing his heart, all light and pounding and sweet, maybe even richer than the last time he had held a girl so close, though there had been others he'd been taken with for short times. With Wendy, at that moment, he belt his breath stop, and he wanted to lean in and close the space between them, to kiss her feather soft. But he didn't, because he wasn't sure if that was right to feel, and he was still too scared to try it.

He smiled seriously, not letting go. "Don't go easy on me. Ever."

She blinked up at him, lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings, and he wanted to let them brush against his thumbs. Wendy smiled, so sweet that he felt his heart skip a beat. "Alright. I won't. Not ever."

* * *

Going against her sweet, delicate image, Wendy was toughened from years of playing with two brothers, and she had no trouble being the only girl in a house of nine boys. As she was the single female presence in their lives, each of the boys were very fond of her, their mother, and so they liked to show her the sights and the things they made, bestow her with gifts that made her smile, and they even drank the nasty "medicine" she enforced on them. Even Peter, who swallowed it without so much as a grimace.

After learning how to wield a sword, she soon began to accompany them on their escapades, unafraid of getting her dress dirty or her hair rumpled. Both of these things happened one day, a day when Peter offered to accompany her to the part of the forest she liked to pick berries from, and a day when Peter first began to understand that he was quickly falling in love again.

* * *

The day before had been full of rain, and so the ground was soggy beneath their feet as Peter walked with her to the berry bushes, having remembered to be a gentleman and carry her basket. He was in the middle of telling her a story he'd heard from the natives when Wendy came to a stop, looking down into a slight hill, eyes squinted.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" he asked, looking with her now, curious.

"That," she said pointing at a brightly colored object several yards below: a feather, its colors pale blue and cobalt and white. She leaned over more, trying to get a better look at it.

Seeing her so close to the edge had Peter uncomfortable, his protectiveness flaring. "Wendy, don't lean so—"

The small cliff they were standing on, softened from countless rainstorms and pushed to its brink the day before, suddenly gave way, the ground slipping out from underneath his feet. Lifting into the air, he looked up to see Wendy begin to slide down the embankment with the fallen mud cliff, her eyes large with shock and arms flying above her head.

"Wendy!" Peter reached out desperately, fear gripping his heart as he tried to take hold of her hand, his fingers grazing hers but not catching hold.

She didn't scream, but somehow, it was almost worse for Peter, who could do nothing but watch as she slid down, down, down, his heart pounding in his throat and body propelling him forward as he flew toward where he had last seen a flash of her white gown, unable to make himself consider what might have happened to her.

When he got to the bottom, there she was, sitting dazedly in the muddy ground, her face and dress and hair a mess, smeared with dirt and mud and bits of leaves, eyes blinking dazedly.

He flew to where he was just above her, hands reaching out uselessly and more afraid than he had been in a long while. "Wendy-lady, are you alright?"

Slowly, she looked up at him, her eyes strikingly blue from the mask of brown, and then she was laughing, smiling as she wiped a hand across her face, smearing away just enough mud for him to see her cheeks were stained the palest of pinks with embarrassment and adrenaline. "I'm fine, Peter. Look, I got it!" Triumphantly, she held up the feather, now mud spattered.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

"Positive."

Peter let out a relieved breath, hands unsteady and too shaken to even laugh with her. He hadn't thought he'd ever feel that much fear over a girl again, and yet he had, watching Wendy slide away and seeing her blink around in a haze.

She smiled up at him, the right corner of her mouth dimpling in a smile she saved just for him, as she raised her hand out for his, the feather held carefully in her other. "Would you be so kind?" she asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, but with something that was not fear.

And Peter took her hand and gripped it firmly in his, the knowledge that he had fallen in love with his Wendy soaring through his soul.

* * *

In Peter's make believe world, he was Father and Wendy Mother, and they were the parents of the Lost Boys and John and Michael. He expected Wendy to treat him with respect as man of the house, and she did this wonderfully, always ready to play along with his fantasies and enjoying them herself. But sometimes, inconsistency won out, and Peter would forget that Wendy wasn't also his mother. He let her clean his cuts and scratches and sometimes, when it was just the two of them, laid across her lap and let her play with his hair. And when she gave each of the boys the customary goodnight kiss on the cheek, he demanded his to be on the forehead, and after just the slightest moment of shyness, she conceded to his demand. And he liked it, though it left him wanting more.

He liked having someone as sweet as she to take care of him, but he also liked to do the same to her, like when she fell asleep in the middle of sewing late into the night, and he would carefully lift her up and place her in bed, and sometimes, when the fear of being so close to her left him, he would lay down beside her and curl her into his arms and sleep the night through. When she sprained her ankle after tripping on a hidden root, he carried her back to the house and took care of her that night and most of the next day, helping her with her chores. She enjoyed his company tremendously, while the boys playing about and searching for things to give to Mother so that she would feel better, and she liked to have Peter sit with her and listen to him play his reed music.

That night, Wendy insisted that she was well enough to walk instead of being carried, and he wrapped her arm around his shoulders and helped her to bed, carefully covering her in a show of consideration. "Is this good? Are you comfortable, Wendy-lady?"

She smiled, curious. "Why do you call me that?"

Peter blinked down at her seriously. "Because that's what you are: You are the Wendy-lady. You're my Wendy-lady."

His words didn't register until he heard her catch her breath, saw her eyes fill with comprehension and warmth. "I am yours," she said softly, thoughtfully.

And that familiar, burning feeling churned his stomach and made him reach down to gently lift several strands of her glossy hair, brushing it against his lips. "Yes. You are mine."

Wendy smiled, her fingers raising up to touch the back of the hand he had in her hair. "And are you mine also?"

For a moment, Peter could say nothing, because he knew this feeling, and it hurt, and yet it was wonderful, the joy better than the pain, and he didn't want to hurt anymore. So he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Yes. I'm yours."

* * *

One night a few days later, as Wendy had just finished giving each boy a kiss on the cheek and tucked them into bed, she went to find Peter laying sprawled out across his bed.

"Bedtime, Peter."

He sat up, his features pulled down in thought as he looked at her. Peter had watched her place her lips against the eight other boys' cheeks, and it bothered him, though he didn't know exactly why. He stared at her as she came to stand in front of him, hair freshly combed and face tired, but in a good way, the kind that comes from doing a job that you love. Even at the end of the day, she was still pretty.

He let her smooth the hair from his forehead, then felt her lean in to kiss him goodnight.

And before she could, Peter pulled in closer, raised his face, and pressed his lips against hers.

It was the barest brush of their mouths, but it sent heat crawling through Peter, the need for more and the desire to hold her and be held and to never let go. But she pulled back quickly, her eyes large and cheeks pink.

Peter smiled, ignoring his own shakiness. "That's how a mother should kiss a father goodnight. That is what you will do from now on."

He was afraid she would argue, though she rarely ever did disagree with him, because if she didn't want to, he wouldn't force her, even if all he wanted to do was kiss her until she disappeared. Waiting, hoping, he stared her down.

Then, slowly, Wendy smiled, very shy and sweet and in a way that told him that she liked it, too. "Of course."

* * *

Wendy was the only one, ever, who could soothe Peter's nightmares.

They were vivid dreams of indiscernible shapes and images that he didn't understand, and yet they terrified him, and when he was tossed in them like a ship fighting against the waves, he would cry out in his sleep. And when this happened, Wendy would wake and come to him, sometimes the act of brushing patterns on his face enough to calm him, sometimes not; other times, she would rock him through the worst of it, would hold him close and wish she were strong enough to protect him from his demons.

Once, during a nightmare so fitful that Peter thrashed himself into some form of awareness, he woke to slender arms wrapped around his back and holding him to a warm, solid body that was soft in all the right places, a hand brushing through his tangled hair soothingly as a voice gently whispered to him.

"Shhh, Peter, shhh. You're safe, you're right here. I have you."

Wendy.

Still half asleep, Peter looked up at her, saw her smile slightly in the dark when she realized he was awake. And he pushed forward almost desperately and kissed her, holding her to him and never breaking off, needing to feel every bit of her to know that she was real and so was he.

Wendy remained still for a moment, and then she kissed him back, her fingers still in his hair and his clinging to her. And when he stopped kissing her, her wrapped his shaking arms around her stomach and held her tightly, the feel of her heartbeat strong against his.

"Don't ever leave me. Please. Not ever."

She kissed the top of his head, but said nothing, instead beginning to hum softly, the sound lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

"I need you, Wendy."

He felt her hold him a little more tightly, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with tears, though he couldn't tell if she was sad or happy. "I need you, too, Peter."

Drowsily, he kissed her collarbone through her nightdress, snuggling in closer and inhaling her scent. "I love you."

He slept the whole night through without another nightmare, and when he woke the next morning, Wendy was still there.

* * *

Wendy met Tiger Lily once.

They were not far from the burrow, the Peter and the boys working on building a rope bring from tree to tree that would lead back to their home and Wendy assisting in any way she could, when Peter felt something shoot up his back. He stood straight, almost able to feel the presence that was approaching, and the hairs on his neck stood and his heart pounded because he knew this feeling, this presence.

He watched as she silently slid into view, her dark face devoid of emotion as she walked toward them, feathers in her hair like the first time.

Tiger Lily.

Pain and longing went through his body and mind and heart, and he felt too large for skin suddenly, like he was trying to rip out and get away from her piercing eyes, eyes that had once known him so well. His gaze never left her face.

But he watched as she slowly turned her eyes to rest on Wendy, and as he saw the fair skinned girl look back curiously, without any sign of fear, at the native girl, who revealed no emotion, a shock of nerves and protectiveness for Wendy sped through Peter.

All of the boys stopped their tasks once they realized she was there, looking from her to Peter, unsure what to do.

Tiger Lily, her eyes having not left Wendy for a long while, turned her gaze back to Peter. "My father and I would like to invite you to a celebration that is to be held the eve after tomorrow in honor of his eldest grandson's manhood ceremony."

In the years since his time with her, Tiger Lily had become a mother. This fact was not unknown to Peter, as he had met her two children on occasion, but it was knowledge that still managed to bring him pain. Still, he would not refuse the chief. "Of course. But Wendy must be included in the invitation."

Tiger Lily turned to look once more at Wendy, who seemed to sense the tension between her and Peter, brow furrowed slightly and looking uncomfortable. Tiger Lily let a small, sad smile slide across her face, and she nodded. "The girl is welcome."

And then she left, sliding back in among the trees and leaving Peter confused as he looked down to meet Wendy's questioning eyes.

* * *

Peter didn't tell Wendy, couldn't tell her, about his past with Tiger Lily. It was too painful, and he knew it would bring a sad expression to her face. But more than anything was the fact that when he'd seen Tiger Lily, he had felt the old longing, the past pain, but when he looked at Wendy, he felt the present happiness and adoration for her that had grown over time, softer and a little sweeter than before.

When she came to him, still troubled, he let her speak freely.

"Peter, I know it's not my place to pry into your past, or to judge you. But…you knew that girl very well once, yes?"

Solemnly, he answered, "Yes."

"And now?"

Peter saw it then, what he hadn't ever seen clearly before in her eyes: The fact that she loved him back, in the way that he loved her. She was nervous and yet trying to remain firm, ready to take whatever he gave her as an answer.

So when he walked up to her, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her, he felt her relax, her body melting against his as she touched a hand to his chest. Unlike the last time, with Tiger Lily, he didn't feel the same passion; it was gentler now, because Wendy was gentler, and it made every happy thought he'd ever had rush back to him and lift him off the ground.

"Peter!" she laughed against his lips as he wrapped his arms around her and held her, hovering above the ground. He smiled, hugging her close. "You love me too."

"I do, Peter. I love you, too."

* * *

For a while, things stayed the same; that is, they were happy. They continued to play house, Wendy mothering her boys and yet loving Peter with all of her heart, the way a wife would her husband but without all of the understanding, as they were still children. She cheered for Peter, and he made sure to keep her happy, always finding the perfect way to maker her sad faces disappear.

Except for one certain expression.

Some days, out of nowhere, a sadness and longing would take over Wendy's features and steal into her eyes and take her away from him, into the past, and she would sigh. Sometimes, it was sounds that caused these moments, or something one of the boys said, or a certain smell, and then other times, she lost herself in the memories that she didn't share with Peter about London, about just how wonderful it was to have a real mother and father, to grow into the person you wanted to be. She knew he hated all talk of growing up, so she never said any of this to him.

But he saw it. Saw it in her hands as she looked at her body self consciously, as she let herself get lost in the daydreams that did not revolve around Neverland. And he heard it, on occasion, when he would stay by her side as she slept, when she would call out for her own mother, a few stray tears falling from her closed eyes.

During these times, Peter would draw in, confused and hurt as to why she would even think life back there, in London, would be better than here. He began watching her more closely, trying to find any sign of aging, and when there were none, he was almost satisfied; but not quite, because every once in a while, she would look at him in a way he didn't understand completely, that was still filled with all of her love but more intense, the kind that he, as Peter Pan, could not ever fully comprehend, even though he had begun to feel traces of it.

And he saw it, the truth, in these moments: Wendy was, in fact, beginning to grow up and leave him behind.

* * *

In their last days, Peter tried to distance himself from her some, too afraid to face the truth and trying to deny it with all of his might. He would ignore the longing looks she sent him, the way she tried to take his hand or when she called his name, hoping to make her think he was angry; it was just too painful to be near her now.

She came, though, looking past his refusals and coming to find him where he sat perched in a high tree limb one day. Having climbed the latter up, she walked across their bridge and sat beside him, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. "Have I done anything to make you cross with me?" she asked softly.

He didn't look up. "Yes."

Peter heard her inhale quickly, then release the breath slowly. "For whatever it is, I'm sorry."

Still not meeting her gaze, he looked up from his fingers out across the jungle. "You wish to grow up. Don't you."

Wendy was silent for several long moments, and Peter dared to hope, hope that she would laugh and tell him no, say that she would forever stay with him as a child. But then, she sighed sadly. "I…I think so."

He looked at her then, and it nearly broke him, because there she was, young and real and right beside him, and he couldn't ever imagine her growing up, becoming a woman and—he felt momentary rage flood him—marrying some man, having children. "But why?"

She looked away, then back at him, and there were tears in her eyes. "I can't really explain it, honestly. Ever since I was very little, I would look after my mother and imagine myself like her, with children of my own. And I want that, though not for a long while. I want to see the world through new eyes, older eyes. I'm forgetting, Peter. I'm forgetting my parents and my old home, and so are my brothers. That's why I have to take them back, why I have to go back." Her tears spilled over then, sparkling wet tracks down her face. "But I can't imagine leaving you. I don't know if I can bear it."

Hands shaking, Peter touched her face, brushing at her cheeks and moving closer. "Then don't. Wendy, you can stay here forever. I want you too. You don't have to grow up."

"But I do," she said, almost sobbed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I already am. You've seen it too, haven't you?"

"Oh, Wendy…" His voice trembled.

"I have to go."

T knowledge that she was really leaving set in and filled him with anger, and he jerked back and glared at her, gripped her by her shoulders. "No. You're not leaving. I won't let you."

"Peter, please…"

"You aren't leaving me!"

She looked up at him, eyes hurting and tear glazed. "But I _have _to."

"No, you don't."

Yes, she did.

He understood it now. Because he saw that she was really growing up, that part of her wanted to, the part that wanted to go back more than stay here. And his eyes burned, his chest aching as he leaned against her and swallowed tears. "Please, please don't leave me."

"Peter, don't. Please, don't…"

They held each other for what seemed like forever, crying silently into the other's shoulder and refusing to let go. Finally, Wendy spoke. "You could come back with me and the boys."

He thought about it. He would be with Wendy forever, and they would love and live, and be happy. But then, just as quickly, all he could see was schools and adults controlling him and growing up, becoming the thing that he feared most: a man.

A tear slid down his cheek as he pulled pack to look at her. "I can't. Not ever."

Her eyes spilled over once again, and she tried wiping at them with her hands, but Peter gently took them in his own and pressed his wet face to hers, kissing her salty tears away, his heart breaking in a way that had only happened once before; only it was worse now.

Because she represented the one thing he could not allow, ever: growing up.

And it killed him, made his heart, which healed so easily, break in a way that would never be fixed.

So he kissed her one last time, capturing her soft lips with his and holding her to him. "I'll take you back."

Because Wendy Darling was no longer, and never would be, his.


	4. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: The world of Peter Pan does not belong to me, and the rights to this amazing creation go to J. M. Barrie.  
**

******A/N:** **I just want to say thank you to everyone who read this story, and a warm hug to those who reviewed, as I wrap this up.**

**I had considered doing this quite differently and not even having an epilogue that was very long, but it soon became apparent that that wouldn't work, and so we have this, the ending to the love stories of Peter Pan and Tiger Lily and Peter Pan and Wendy Darling. I tried to keep each girl's part in this story the same, and though I know I tended more to Wendy, I really enjoyed looking into Tiger Lily's mind and shaping her in my own way.  
**

**If you're very familiar with Sir Barrie, you might just recognize a certain name I used near the end, and if you do, I give you a big high five!  
**

**Did this madness make sense to you? Let me know what you thought of the ending, and I hoped you liked my first step into Neverland.  
**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

Years passed, the world changed, but not Peter, or Neverland. As the Lost Boys of long ago had left to go to Wendy's world, a new group of children was under his watch, as was a new fairy known by the name of Silver Wing, a quieter fairy than his Tinker Bell but delightful nonetheless. The peace between the boys and the Indians remained, and Peter often visited them, though he tried his best to avoid Tiger Lily and spoke rarely to her. Sometimes, however, she would smile at him, and he would remember their wild days in the woods when she wasn't married and they still belonged to each other.

One day, though he wasn't sure how it happened, Peter and Tiger Lily ended up alone together in the village center, and instead of the awkwardness he had imagined, he fell into conversation with her easily, enjoying her expressions as she spoke about the young braves and the harvest and the Lost Boys, and they even laughed for a little while together.

Suddenly, he asked, "Do you believe there is any way we could ever be friends, like how we were at first?"

Tiger Lily looked at him, her eyes older and sadder. "I don't believe so. If we tried, we would just want more, and both you and I cannot ever have that."

* * *

Due to the fact that time passes differently in Neverland than the rest of the world, and because of Peter's disposition, there were days when he didn't even think about Tiger Lily or his Wendy-lady. But the next time he remembered staring out from the cave of the burrow with Tiger Lily or teaching Wendy how to dance as the fairies had shown him, the ache hit him harder.

They still held him.

* * *

He tried not to, but eventually, Peter slipped back into Wendy's world. And he wished he hadn't, because when he saw her, she was no longer the same, instead a tall creature with her hair pulled back and a tearful, longing look on her beautiful adult face. She had grown up, as he knew she would, but it didn't make him stop hurting.

There was a good side, however, in his sadness: Peter met Jill, a little girl—Wendy's little girl—who was as loud and outgoing as he was, at odds with how he remembered Wendy as a child. And so he took her to visit Neverland, and eventually came to care about her against his will, though it was nothing more than a close friendship and the softness she showed when she played his mother. He brought her back home to Wendy sooner than he would have liked, but he could tell that she'd begun to miss her mother.

Peter talked to Wendy the night he brought Jane home, still uncertain of how to act around her and she around him. He asked of her husband, though only to be polite, and when she began telling Peter about him, he could see a new love in her eyes, love that was not his, and it left him on the verge of either killing the man or breaking apart completely.

After that night, he returned every so often, once more for Jane, once for her daughter, Margaret, who was almost as sweet as Wendy had been as a girl. But seeing Wendy age, seeing her face change and wrinkle and her hair turn lighter with streaks of gray, became too much for him, and after he returned Margaret, he went up to her, kneeled, and put his head in her lap.

She immediately began stroking his hair. "You won't be back again, will you?"

"No."

He looked at her, saw her smile slightly, sad but acceptant, and she leaned forward to kiss his forehead, just as she had done long before. "Then be free, Peter."

* * *

More time passed. Peter, as he had said, did not return to Wendy, and his visits to the village became fewer and fewer. The pain of knowing Tiger Lily was so near was too great of a temptation and a heartache for him, and knowing that Wendy was growing every day, changing, and that she had left him behind forever, was enough for him to convince himself to block off his heart, to force down the memories and the longing and focus solely on himself and the Lost Boys, to keep himself at a distance from the rest of the world. He would not be hurt so deeply ever again as he had those two times before, and soon, Peter had nearly forgotten them.

But not completely. Never completely.

And so, many years after he first brought the Wendy-lady to Neverland, and many _many _more years since he had first met the Native princess in the wood, he lost them both forever.

* * *

When the news reached Peter that Tiger Lily, the chief's daughter and wife of a very respected brave, had died at the hand of a pirate wandering through the Indian's part of the jungle, he could not truly believe it. He stood in a daze, unable to conjure up any happy thoughts that would lift him into the air, seeing nothing but a dark face and a reluctant smile that was strangely beautiful, long hair and feathers and paint, remembering the nights he had spent with her, their laughter and touches and kisses.

And then he was running, breaking through tree limbs and tearing past bushes like a mad man, ignoring the brambles that stuck into the soles of his feet and heart pounding, the rushing blood slowly beginning to flood with cold dread as he ran to the edge of the village.

He stared, panting, into a pillar of smoke.

A funeral pyre was burning orange and red and gold and filling the blue sky with thick, dark colored smoke. He could see the villagers around it, but he didn't see her anywhere.

And Peter understood it then, that she was gone, she who had been there since he could remember, forever young and filled with life, only no longer. Tiger Lily was dead.

* * *

Later, after he had regained control of himself enough to speak with the chief, he learned that her husband and the rest of the braves had yet to find the pirate and dispose of him. Peter turned dark, determined green eyes to him. "Consider it done. He's mine."

* * *

He searched for two days, the lone pirate having retreated deeper into the forest instead of returning to the ship and the rest of the crew and safety, and so when Peter did come across him, he was taken unaware. The man had barely risen from the ground, revolver in hand, when Peter let his dagger fly true and hit the mark, tearing through the pirate's neck and severing his windpipe, nailing him to a tree.

Peter walked toward the gurgling pirate. He picked up the fallen gun, aimed, and shot him in the middle of his chest without blinking, piercing his heart.

Just before the life slipped away from the man's eyes, Peter ripped the dagger from his throat and stood over his fallen form, eyes holding no mercy. "That shot was for she that you murdered."

* * *

For days, Peter wandered around in a daze, unable to be reached by any of the Lost Boys or Silver Wing, barely even eating. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, knowing that she was gone, because even though it had been many long years since she had been his, he still loved her. Her energy and even her awkwardness, her ability to make him laugh and how she had shown just as much passion as he, how she'd never let him get away with anything.

He understood why it hadn't worked with them, how she had been too much for him to handle too fast, but that didn't make his love for her any less. What was he to do now?

And then another face flashed unbidden across his mind, a heart shaped face with pale eyes and a kiss hidden in the corner of her mouth, a face that was still a child, not the old woman she had been becoming the last time he had seen her.

_Go to Wendy._

* * *

Leaving the boys and Silver Wing behind without so much as a note, Peter flew to London, arriving on a warm, spring afternoon with an overcast sky. Normally, he wouldn't have come in the middle of the day, but the need to see Wendy was immediate, demanding, and he couldn't wait. He flew to her home, looking in the window that had led into the nursery of long ago, and was surprised to find it locked. Had Margaret forgotten him? Surely not. And Wendy…the thought of her forgetting him didn't even cross his mind; it was not possible.

The only way to find her was to ask someone, which he would rather not do, but Peter plucked up his nerve and landed at the front door, then knocked.

A man appeared as the door opened, tall and handsome and completely unfamiliar, even to Peter, whose memory wasn't the best. The adult looked him over in confusion. "May I help you?"

"Excuse me," Peter began as politely as he could, looking up into the stranger's dark brown eyes. "I'm looking for Wendy Darling"

"Who?"

Uncertainty flashed through Peter. He knew her house; he couldn't have gotten it wrong.

"Robert, who is it?" A woman came into view, young and very pretty, with blonde curls and blue eyes that were all too familiar to Peter, so much so that he had to step back slightly.

"This chap says he's looking for a Wendy Darling."

"Silly, have you forgotten that Darling was my great grandmother's maiden name?" the lady asked him with a laugh. She looked at Peter, her expression still smiling, but no longer as light. "Why are you looking for her, if I may ask?"

Peter swallowed. "I…I wanted to see her. Just this one last time."

Her smile wobbled. "Do you know where Cherry Street is?"

"I can find it, I'm sure."

"Alright then. She's at the cemetery."

"Whatever is she doing there?" Peter asked perplexedly. "Did someone die?"

The lady looked so sad, and Peter didn't know why, but she reminded him of Wendy at that moment, like he had seen her many years before that last day in Neverland. She ignored his question. "When you arrive, find the oldest, largest cherry tree there. She'll be underneath it."

* * *

After much looking, reading of street signs, and avoiding any curious glances, Peter managed to find Cherry Street and the cemetery the woman had told he would find Wendy at. But when he arrived, there was only a handful of people there, and he didn't see her; even now, when she was old, he was sure he would recognize her.

Remembering the woman's words, he made sure no one was watching and flew up to look above the graveyard, quickly spotting the tree she must have been referring to, a great beauty of pink blossoms. He snuck through the other trees until he reached it, then dropped gracefully to the ground, searching the vicinity. His stomach felt tight at the prospect of seeing her again, knowing she was near, and yet his heart felt lightened also.

No one was there.

Nerves pricked him, made him feel lost and unsure as he looked behind the tree for her. Nothing.

"Wendy?"

Coming back around from behind the massive tree, Peter's foot catch the corner of a stone, and he nearly pitched forward, catching himself against the tree trunk at the last minute. He looked down at he offending rock.

And stared, curious.

The stone was flat and neatly cut, smooth gray colored, and with writing on it. Wendy had taught him how to read long ago, but the words came to him slowly, and when they did, he didn't understand them.

Wendy Davies

1892 - 1982

Peter read the words over and over, the knowledge not yet clicking together in his mind.

And then remembered Wendy mentioning a name once, a name he would hate for as long as there was breath in his lungs: Nicholas Davies. Her husband.

Wendy Davies.

Peter inhaled a jagged breath.

This was her.

He had seen many a gravestone, and though no one had ever told him, he'd come to figure out that they represented a dead person, as he would see others standing over the stone crying or laying flowers on it. Now, as he stared down at the stone representing Wendy, his Wendy, the horrible truth that she was dead emptied him.

He stood there, suddenly icy old and unable to breathe properly, his already fragile, broken heart ripping for a second time.

He had come back to see her one final time, to let her play with his hair and kiss his face, to see her eyes and the hidden kiss that he knew was his.

And he had come too late, just like he had once before with Tiger Lily long ago.

Both of them, Wendy and Tiger Lily, were now gone.

* * *

Peter stayed at her grave until it was nearly dark, cross-legged on the ground and hands resting listlessly in his lap, barely even feeling the soft rain that fell on him. But finally, when he was able to accept that she really was gone, that he wouldn't be seeing her again, he slowly stood and plucked the prettiest blossom from her cherry tree, then laid it across her grave.

"Goodbye. My Wendy-lady."

* * *

When he returned to Neverland, the sun was sinking into the ocean line, and he stood on a cliff above the sea, watching as the light began to turn the sky purple and pink and orange. This had been Tiger Lily's favorite part of the day. The next morning, he would get up before dawn and travel to the opposite side of the island to watch the sun rise from the east, the moment that was forever Wendy's.

Tiger Lily. Wendy. Peter had loved both of them, the same love yet different with each. With Tiger Lily, it was rawer and sometimes tenser, faster and passionate, while it had been slower and more giving with Wendy, soft and sweeter and more painful. Now, they were both gone, and he alone remained.

And so he cried for them, a child's tears but also tears only a man would understand, great heaving sobs that ripped through his chest and tore his heart to pieces as he sunk to the ground and cried into his hands. He cried for the girl who had never let herself cry and the girl who had been the first person to shed tears over him. He cried for the love he had had with both of them, for the happiness and sorrows they had all endured.

Two loves lost, but not forgotten. He promised himself to never let them go.

And this time, he wouldn't forget his promise. He would remember them for as long as he lived.


End file.
